9 - The Malfoys' Ball
22 December 1995
Grimmauld Place
“Wow, Alhena, this is high quality for something literally made in three days.” Hermione ran her hands over her gown.
“What can I say? Madame Erin is brilliant at her job, and she did this on a rush order.” Alhena paused while lacing up her corset.
Ellen Granger was staring at herself in the mirror, not believing what she was seeing. The tired dentist visage and pantsuit were gone, and in its place was something that didn’t seem too out of place among the wealthy elite. “Heir Black…”
“None of the Heir Black or Lady Peverell nonsense from you, Mrs Granger, we’re family. You may call me Alhena.”
“Alright, Alhena, you may call me Ellen then.” She looked at her daughter and said daughter’s best friend – who was apparently the single richest wix in Britain by nearly 18 billion Galleons (“Several highly profitable investments, compound interest and a millennium and a half, and here we are,” was how she had explained it to Antares) and the next richest person was her own father – and felt her eyes shimmer with tears. “You’re doing a lot for us.”
“I just want to see Pansy Parkinson’s face, to be honest. She makes our new dorm insufferable.” Alhena shrugged elegantly as she finished dressing. “I’ve also had it all the way to Hogwarts with her attitude towards Hermione and myself. As if having Squibs in our ancestry is some unforgivable sin!” Alhena rolled her eyes. “If it was that bad, they shouldn’t send them into the Muggle world, then.”
Hermione laughed. “Okay, we better go. Wouldn’t do to be late, would it?”
“What about fashionably late?” Ginny said when they met up outside the door.
“Doesn’t apply if you have status. You’re punctual or it’s a faux pas.” Alhena rolled her eyes. “How do I look?”
“Ice Princess,” Hermione said fondly, before whispering. “You sneaking a book or two in as well?”
“Absolutely. Political talk can be utter mind-numbing drivel some days. Case in point, Wizengamot meetings. And Overcoming won’t read itself.” Alhena linked arms with Hermione and Ellen. “We’re doing this the easy way, because regular apparation and portkeys are utterly godawful. It will be cold, I warn you, but that’s the worst of it.”
“How are you taking us?” Hermione sounded curious.
“Shadow-stepping. I refuse to touch a Portkey until next Yule.” Alhena gave a jaunty wave, before stepping into a pool of shadows.
Malfoy Manor
They emerged in a brightly lit entrance hall, and waited for their companions to arrive. Alhena was privately amused at Antares Granger’s plight, even as Ellen rolled her eyes fondly.
A smartly-dressed house-elf was standing nearby, looking up at the group. “May Mipsy have your names, Lords and Ladies?”
“Ah, we’re the Black-Granger-Peverell-Potter-Weasley party,” Alhena said with a small smile.
“Yous will be following Tipsy to the ballroom.” Mipsy gestured to another smartly-dressed house-elf.
The group followed the elf, and soon emerged into the Ballroom.
What followed were several hours of entertainment, dancing, and only occasionally mindless political drivel. Alhena danced with practically anyone that was willing to dance with her, but froze when she recognised the man that swept her into her latest dance. “Lord Gaunt.”
“Lady Peverell-Slytherin-Haydon.” Thomas’ voice was rich and silky, and did things to Alhena’s insides.
They danced peacefully for a while, before Thomas spoke quietly. “I loved seeing your power – even if only a mere fraction – on display during your brother’s trial. May I be so bold – nay, Gryffindor – to presume you are a necromancer?”
“Indeed, I am, Lord Gaunt.” Alhena was surprised at the turn of conversation. “May I enquire as to the reason behind your curiosity?”
“I’ve never met a born Necromancer, or another living necromancer at all. I have always been intrigued by their abilities, and the nuances of living with the ability on a day-to-day basis.”
“While I wish I had the time at this moment, I sadly do not. However, I shall write it out in a letter, if you wish?”
“That would be most pleasing, Lady Peverell.” Thomas smiled. “Address it to Thomas Marvolo Gaunt, a messenger will always find me by that name.”
“Alhena Black shall suffice, should you reply.”
“I don’t doubt it, Lady Peverell.” Thomas smiled as the music came to a slow. “Hm, I shall hand you over to one of your numerous partners, fair lady. Good evening.”
Alhena was swept into dance after dance after that, and it was nearing midnight when she was approached by the Lestrange brothers, causing her to smile shyly.
“Lady Peverell, we would be honoured to have this dance.” Rodolphus spoke softly.
“It would be my honour, Heirs Lestrange.” Alhena let them guide her onto the dance floor, oblivious to the looks they were receiving. But the watching crowd were simply blown away by the sheer finesse and agility the trio displayed while they danced, as if they had known each other for years, instead of mere minutes.
It was during one of the dances that Corvus approached Orion, and whispered quietly. “They’re soulmates, aren’t they?”
Orion nodded once. “They are. It’s beautiful to see.”
“And is that the Grangers talking to Lord and Lady Winters?” Thomas arched an eyebrow as he moved towards his old classmates in tandem with Benjamin Nott.
“Yes,” Orion spoke gracefully. “Ellen Granger is actually the squib daughter of Lord and Lady Winters. And it is a very convoluted series of events that leads to Lady Dagworth-Granger being a member of the House of Black, much to my amusement and consternation.”
“How recently is the direct Black relation?”
“5 generations. Isla Hitchens née Black, who was disowned for marrying a Muggle.” Orion murmured. “Alhena said it was deeply poetic and karmic justice.”
“Closer than me,” Benjamin joked. “The most recent Black in my ancestry is seven generations back.” He turned serious after a moment. “How did you even manage to have three children in this day and age?”
“Please be mindful of the fact that there are 20 years between Sirius and Alhena, and 18 between Regulus and Alhena. I’m largely sure Alhena’s conception is almost entirely down to Carina and her sheer persistence.” Orion sighed, taking a sip of his champagne.
Benjamin patted his shoulder firmly, before refocusing his attention on the dancing trio. “Oh, by Morgana, how are they even keeping pace?”
“Instinct,” Orion supplied almost immediately. “Alhena is naturally graceful – if a tad clumsy on occasion – and their bond will probably make it as easy as breathing. The only other attempts that are even remotely successful – from what I can see – are by Lord Potter-Stinchcombe, Lady Dagworth-Granger and Mr Ronald Weasley, and Heirs Flint, Pucey and Higgs.” He caught sight of Pansy Parkinson’s steadily reddening face. “Seems that Heir Parkinson is losing her tenacious grip on her temper due to the presence of Mr and Mrs Granger. I wonder if we’ll see an honour duel?”
“If only we would be so lucky,” Thomas chuckled darkly. “Alas, the more likely outcome is that a blood feud will be started, because from what I have heard from Severus, the Silver Quartet – Ladies Dagworth-Granger and Peverell, Lord Potter-Stinchcombe and Mr Weasley – always have each other’s backs, and their bond makes me think about the old descriptions of covens – or blood covenants. Aqua pallida est in comparatione ad sanguinem.”
“The water is pale in comparison to the blood. How fitting.” Benjamin mused. “If Heir Parkinson starts a blood feud, the Parkinsons will lose everything. Samuel may have been a spiteful little popinjay, but he doesn’t deserve his estate falling to shambles because of a careless granddaughter.”
“I’ll warn Angela and Julius,” Corvus said before slinking away to warn Pansy’s parents.
Alhena was only vaguely aware of Lord and Lady Parkinson collecting Pansy and making their excuses to Lucius and Narcissa, too preoccupied in the numerous dances Rodolphus and Rabastan were leading her in. Eventually, however, she fell against Rodolphus’ chest with a giggle. “I’m dizzy.”
“It’s all the dancing,” Rodolphus spoke softly. “Have you eaten?”
Alhena shook her head, resting against his chest. “Didn’t get a chance, and I was too nervous before.”
Rodolphus gave her a worried look, before gently leading her to a table, Rabastan in tow. “You should eat.” He made up a plate from the buffet and brought it to her.
Alhena gave him a grateful smile before starting to eat. Halfway through, she conjured a piece of parchment and got a self-inking quill from her pocket, scribbling a short note before it folded into an origami swan and flew off with a wave of her hand.
Rabastan tilted his head. “What was that about?”
“The dead are annoying and Abraxas is awfully insistent that I tell Lucius something,” Alhena muttered quietly, resting against Rodolphus. Her eyes were drooping.
“We should get you back to Lord Black,” Rabastan took in her state.
“He’ll come looking, or ‘Mione will. I don’t want to move, too tired.” Alhena’s voice was barely audible.
True to her word, 15 minutes later Hermione walked over to their little group with Orion, Corvus and the rest of the Silver Quartet in tow. Orion’s face smoothed over in relief, before his eyebrows lowered just a bit as he took in her state. “Is she alright?”
“I’m not sure, Lord Black.” It was Rabastan that spoke, since Alhena was half-asleep against Rodolphus. “She seemed alright until the end of our last dance – when she started feeling dizzy – but she didn’t get quite so tired until after she sent a note to Lucius.”
Orion sighed as he took in Alhena’s state. “I think it’s time we headed home. Most of our party has already headed back home, it’s only Lady Dagworth-Granger, Lord Potter-Stinchcombe, Mr Weasley, Alhena and myself left here.” He summoned Kreacher. “Kreacher, take Alhena home.”
Kreacher bowed low. “Kreacher shall, Master Orion.” He laid a hand on Alhena’s forearm, before popping the two of them to her bedroom.
Rodolphus turned to Orion after Kreacher had left. “Lord Black, I hope I am not overstepping my boundaries when I ask this, but please have a healer look at her. I am not sure just how much her abilities actually affect her health, but I have a feeling that they can leave her drained.”
“I shall, Heir Lestrange.” Orion nodded. “Goodnight, Heirs Lestrange, Corvus.” He took the rest of their party home.